


Second Verses and Happy Beginnings

by shireness



Series: Rock Star!Emma AU - Maybe I Won't Die Alone [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sequel to a previous work, even more karaoke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Killian Jones never expected his life to end up like this when Emma Swan walked into his bar, all those years ago. A follow-up to "Maybe I Won't Die Alone"





	Second Verses and Happy Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as a continuation of a previous work, "Maybe I Won't Die Alone", which features RockStar!Emma and Bartender!Killian, and was written on the assumption that readers would have already read the first part. As such, go read that first, otherwise you'll be confused. We'll wait. It's a one-shot and relatively quick to read.
> 
> Rated T for some language and vague mentions of some more enjoyable activities occurring.
> 
> Enjoy!

Watching the love of his life hold back the scowl lurking just beneath her forced smile on the red carpet, Killian Jones still has trouble believing this is his life.

\------

Their courtship had been almost shockingly traditional, really. The tabloids are particularly disappointed in this - undoubtedly expecting to be some sort of drama or tension associated with a famous rock star dating a normal bloke who runs a bar in London - and Emma is almost giddy with amusement over their confusion and annoyance and outrage. But they’re really… Killian doesn’t want to say boring, but honestly, they’re not that exciting. The most high-profile thing they do is sometimes go and see other bands, established or up-and-coming, and even that doesn’t make for a particularly good story. At the end of the day, they’re just a pair of people desperately in love who want to be left in peace.

But he’s liked this sedate courtship - they both have. After six months, they move in together, selling Emma’s place and hauling everything across town again. True, her old apartment would definitely have been large enough for both of them, but Killian likes this new start - a place that’s for the _both_ of them to grow in together. So they buy a little house in a cute suburb and fill the house with pictures of their family. There’s a nice kitchen, and space for Emma to have a designated music room, and two extra bedrooms he might have thought about filling with children. One day. In the meantime, it’s everything they need, with space to grow.

He and Emma have been dating for nearly two years when he finally proposes. He does it right, too; they’d flown back to Maine for Christmas that year, and Killian had very nervously asked Ruth for her permission to marry Emma. In retrospect, he’s not sure why he was so nervous - Emma’s mother more than approves of the two of them, especially since she views Killian as one of the few people with the patience to handle living with Emma - but he’s a shaking mess of nerves all the same. Ruth excitedly grants her blessing, of course, and then proceeds to grill him about every detail of a proposal he hasn’t planned yet. It’s the Nolan way. Anything less would be out of character.

He probably should have dropped down on one knee that very evening - he has a ring and everything, it’s not like he’s not prepared - but her whole family is there, and watching, and it doesn’t feel like the right time.

The right moment, as it turns out, is all the way in the beginning of March, when he’s still fretting about perfect dates and whether she’ll want flowers or music or something else he hasn’t thought of yet. They’re in the bar before he opens for the afternoon, which is probably the most predictable setting he could have asked for in taking their relationship to the next level. So many of their milestones have happened at the Jolly Roger - it’s probably only appropriate that this one happen here as well.

He’s checking the liquor stocks, making sure everything is ready for the evening to come, with Emma leaning against the counter and watching him with a funny look in her eye. Killian knows that look; it usually means plans and trouble. Killian also knows damn well she’ll say her piece in her own time, usually for greatest dramatic effect. It’s the Emma Swan way. So he smiles the special smile that’s just for her and continues with his pre-opening routine.

He’s just wiping down the bar top one last time when she finally speaks up. “Are you ever going to ask?” she says, the smile evident in her voice.

“Ask what, darling?” he replies absentmindedly, attention focused on scouring one particularly stubborn sticky spot. Honestly, what the hell are these people spilling?

“Me to marry you,” her voice pipes back in, causing Killian to jerk his head up suddenly. He must look ridiculous, all wide eyed surprise at her question. Even if the words are said in a teasing tone, he knows she means them. They’ve talked about marriage before, like the mature and responsible adults they’re trying to be, and both know it’s a step they’re not adverse to. That doesn’t mean he was expecting the matter to come up this particular afternoon, in this particular setting.

Even if they’ve discussed the matter, he’s not sure how she knows he’s on the verge of taking that step. “How do you know about that?” he somehow manages to stutter out past his own tongue. Christ, this is not how this was supposed to go.

She shrugs. “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.”

Ah. Of course. He should have figured on that one. Emma’s sister-in-law probably didn’t mean to, but when she has a piece of information she’s not supposed to share, you can practically see it bursting from every one of her pores. It would have taken Emma nothing at all to weasel the information out of her.

Lost in his thoughts, and probably his embarrassment, he doesn’t notice Emma leaning across the bar until she takes his hand, their fingers entwining automatically after months and years of practice turned instinctual reflex. “I’m gonna say yes, you know,” she says softly, and if Killian was shocked before, you could knock him over with a feather now. He knows, somewhere in his mind, that she’ll say yes if he asks, but it’s one thing to know that, and quite another to hear it. He takes another moment to stare, slightly open-mouthed, before responding.

“I’ll be right back.”

And after that, it’s just a matter of dashing upstairs to the apartment he may not live in anymore but still keeps in case he needs to crash one night. With fumbling hands, he yanks open the drawer to retrieve the little blue velvet box from its hiding place. At the time, the apartment’s junk drawer was the only place he could be certain she wouldn’t stumble across it on accident. That planning has certainly come in handy now, with an impatient fiance-to-be waiting downstairs at the bar.

He practically skids around the corner on his way back down, bursting back into the main bar area a few minutes later.

Killian is sure he must look a sight - practically tripping over his own feet, hands faintly trembling with nerves - but Emma’s light laugh as he attempts to arrange his legs into a kneeling position helps.

He had a speech at one point, or half a speech, ready to go, but that was when he had grand plans of dinners and river cruises and Moments with capital letters, but those scripts never took into consideration that he might be having this moment on his questionably clean bar floor. But Emma’s still smiling at him from her perch, and really, that’s all the encouragement he’ll ever need. Killian takes a final deep breath, soaking in one last moment before his life changes forever.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, would you do me the great honor of marrying me?” There’s no need for grand speeches, really; it’s just the two of them, and they’ve never needed the grand gesture.

Emma’s grinning so widely her cheeks must hurt, before she finally opens her mouth and says the word probably their entire family has been waiting to hear:

“ _Yes._ ”

\------

The wedding is as small as they can reasonably arrange - which is still larger than either would like, but oh well. The point is, it _happens_ , and they’re married.

It’s a very traditional affair, to the shock of none of their friends and all of the magazines. They find a nice garden and Killian wears a black suit and Emma finds a beautiful white dress - fitted enough to suit her tastes, with a lace top that she wears for the ceremony and formal reception to avoid scandalizing Killian’s handful of elderly aunts and uncles any further. But she looks like a _princess_ , the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he tears up at the sight of her brother walking her down the aisle.

Killian feels like he should probably remember the ceremony more, but so much of it is a blur. He says the words; she says the words. Mostly, he’s so focused on Emma and the way there’s a couple of wisps of loose hair around her face and how the veil makes her look like some sort of angel, especially with the way she’s smiling at him, that the rest of it is a blur. He’s told to kiss the bride almost before he knows it, and they’re _married_.

They have two receptions. It’s not for any classy reason, or a celebrity excuse to spend more money, it’s just that there are people they should allow to be there for the cake cutting and first dance and everything else, and the people they actually want to let loose with later. So, two parties it is. The rest of the Lost Girls, with an assist on guitar from Robin,  sing the song Emma first wrote for him (ignoring the disapproving looks of the older crowd), Liam makes the entire room cry with his best man speech, and the cake is this rich chocolate concoction from a local bakery they discovered near the house right after they moved in. It’s… nice, in that way that it’s nice that people are there to be happy for the two of them, but a little formal.

No, the _real_ party is afterwards, when all the people they’re obligated to invite go home and just their immediate family and friends are left - the members of the Lost Girls and Band of Thieves, Regina, Merida, both their siblings. Ruth had been graciously invited, but turned their offer under the excuse of exhaustion. But the rest of them hightail it over to the Jolly Roger for the afterparty of the century.

(And maybe he and Emma are a little later than expected after they sneak in a quickie in the reception hall’s dressing room under the guise of Killian helping Emma detach her veil, but their friends don’t really need to know that, not for sure.)

There’s laughing, and drinking, and fun. They’d arranged for an extra sheet cake to be delivered to the bar, and Smee agrees to man the kitchen in his dress clothes, so they’re all treated to a steady stream of junk food, which Emma in particular appreciates. Really, this is the kind of party they both wanted - small and casual and _theirs_.

Inevitably, as the hour grows later and the drinks grow stronger - thank you, Merida - things turn to karaoke. It seems appropriate; weirdly enough, karoake kind of brought Emma and Killian together. It’s only right that it features as a highlight of their reception as well. Some participants are more enthusiastic than others - Mulan’s girlfriend, Dorothy, flatly refuses to sing, and Mulan herself threatens to choose “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” if forced to participate - but most of the attendants take a turn. Ruby is particularly enthusiastic (though the cocktails may be to blame for that), and seems to be on stage every other song, aggressively making eye contact with Killian through the entirety of “Goodbye Earl” and serenading the pianist from Band of Thieves with Bob Seger when he attempts to leave and go home to his daughter. Emma chooses a Killers song - “You all know I’m nothing if not predictable” - and Killian is even coaxed onstage after losing a bet with Robin to croon a few love songs at his new bride. Personally,  Killian’s favorite moment is when Will Scarlet drunkenly selects a song in French on accident and refuses to just let it pass, instead insisting on tripping over every word and dedicating the whole mess to Belle, “the only French I speak.” It’s a thoughtful gesture, if somewhat nonsensical in its wording.

(There’s quite a bit of teasing about the seductive powers of bad French karaoke when Nellie Rose French Scarlet enters the world nine months later from a motley collection of doting aunts and uncles.)

Killian and Emma stay at the reception afterparty probably far longer than is typical for a newly married couple, but they do eventually make their farewells, leaving the key with Smee and Merida to lock up. It’s a surprisingly sedate ride home, but then again, there’s only so much you can get away with in the back of a taxi.

“Are you happy, Mr. Jones?” she asks with a smile, words only slightly slurred.

Killian smiles right back at her - at his _wife!_ \- before dropping a light kiss on her upturned lips. “Blissful, Mrs. Jones.”

\------

And life goes on. A new album is released, not long after Nellie is born, and the Lost Girls embark on a severely abbreviated tour. It’s hard, he’ll admit; Emma leaving for extended periods of time is like a throwback to the days before she was based in London, but now with the added bonus of not being able to sleep properly at night in an empty bed and expecting her around every corner of their house. Killian misses his wife, dammit, and no amount of calls and video chats can replicate the warm weight of her body curled up next to his.

It’s that desperate missing that’s landed them in this latest adventure, most likely. They weren’t actively trying for kids, by any means, but Emma has never been great about adjusting her pill schedule to the various time changes associated with a tour and really, can a man be blamed for wanting to spend some quality naked time with the love of his life when she’s been gone on this latest leg of the tour for four weeks? Absolutely not.

But those actions have consequences - results, really, consequences makes it sound like some awful punishment - and the results in this case are a positive pregnancy test, followed by a sonogram and a tiny, fluttering heartbeat. A _baby_.

And all those convoluted paths, traditional and less so, have led to this moment: standing on the red carpet at the Grammys, watching the love of his life be interviewed by a reporter Emma looks like she’d rather snap in two.

The interviewer is some tiny slip of a woman, all auburn hair and sweet simpering attitude that Emma has sworn in the past hides the most backhanded comments. Killian can’t help but agree - asking the prerequisite questions about the album that brought the band here tonight, the interviewer sounds dismissive at best, like she doesn’t expect anything from such a record.

“Well this is such an… interesting look for tonight, very daring!” she’s saying, and Killian thinks the strain in Emma’s polite smile could be spotted from the next state. Possibly across the ocean. He takes a step closer to wrap his arm around her waist, hoping she can draw upon his own patience for just a few minutes longer.

“Well thanks, Aurora, I’m not much for the gauzy fairy looks formal maternity wear usually offers.”

She looks stunning, really, all snippy comments aside. Emma’s dressed in some tight, black concoction of a cocktail dress in a fabric he doesn’t pretend to recognize, with gold studs lining the neckline, short sleeves, and under the bust and her hair pulled back in a kicky ponytail to match her dramatic eye makeup. It’s quite the look, one that had left Killian awestruck when Emma wandered out of the bedroom, but he can see why Aurora might have objections, since the dress does nothing to soften or mask the five-and-a-half month bump. He likes seeing the bump, really, even if the interviewer is weirded out by Emma’s tight fashion choices - it’s a easily visible reminder (not that he needs one) that there’s a child in there, a child they made together and will love beyond all reason.

That pest is trying to grill Emma about the babe now, and honestly, that’s about Killian’s limit. What have he and Emma done in their lives that leads this harpy to think it’s alright to demand to know her due date and the baby’s gender? Nothing.

“We’re letting it be a surprise,” Emma replies in that sickly sweet voice Killian knows means she’s at the end of her patience. Thankfully, it seems to be obvious to the brunette as well, as they’re finally allowed to break away and wander inside the concert hall.

“I hate that vulture,” Emma grumbles. Killian is just trying to focus on how cute she gets when she’s angry in an effort to not think about how much he’d prefer to go throttle that awful Aurora.

“I know love, but it’s over, at least. You were very diplomatic, even if I did know you were about to commit a murder.”

She glowers at him, but it doesn’t hold too much threat when they both know the statement is true. It’s with no small relief that they find and take their seats, even if it is earlier than most of the attendees. Emma sinks into her chair with a groan of relief, and Killian can’t help but worry.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Like this kid is way too excited. We’re in a different time zone, shouldn’t he think he should be sleeping or something?”

Killian laughs, reach over to softly rub his hand over Emma’s stomach, searching for the little kicks and punches from their son. And ok, maybe they lied. Maybe they both jumped at the chance to find out the sex of the baby. But maybe, also, it’s no one’s business but their own.

“I don’t think Wiley got the memo, darling.” As if on cue, the little guy himself kicks out at Killian’s hand, receiving a collection of shushing noises and gentle rubbing to where he’s been aiming in response. It doesn’t always work to calm the little lad down, but Killian hopes it will this time, because his poor love deserves a break. The swollen feet are quite enough to deal with, especially in strappy heels.

Glancing back up at his Swan’s face, she’s wearing that soft look he’s come to associate with hormones. “I love you so much, you know that?” she asks with a smile and a small trace of wonder. “Thank you for coming tonight even though you hate the attention, and for keeping me from committing a murder, and for calming down our little kickboxer.”

There’s only one answer, really. “You’re very welcome, darling,” he murmurs back. “I love you too, so very much. You and Wiley both.”

And it might be hard to believe this is his life some days. They might have taken a few paths neither expected that first night she walked into his bar and changed his entire world.

But he wouldn’t change a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> The songs referenced in the karaoke scene are by Gordon Lightfoot and the Dixie Chicks, respectively. 
> 
> Super thanks to @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713, who I said would be credited as my karaoke consultant. I eventually decided listing exactly which songs everyone sang would be very clunky, but she was a great help in helping decide songs for each character back when I was on that kick. Thanks a million, boo. 
> 
> I got such lovely feedback on the first part of this - I hope the second lives up to it!
> 
> This story can also be found on tumblr - I'm @shireness-says. Come say hi.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
